You Know How I Know?
by Nutmeggedya
Summary: Oscar and Kevin explore uses of the question made famous by 40 Year Old Virgin.  Short oneshot.  Occurs anytime after Branch Wars.  Rated T just to be safe.


_Disclaimer:_ Not mine.

_Author's Note:_ I watched _40 Year Old Virgin_ today and just had to get this out of my system. I don't mean to offend anyone with references to what is or isn't "gay." Oh, and I love Oscar and Kevin.

**You Know How I Know You're Gay?**

Kevin and Oscar teetered tipsily on spindle-legged stools at the bar of Poor Richard's Pub, working on another round of beers. Oscar hiccoughed quietly as he took a great gulp of his drink. Kevin checked out a waitress as she strode by.

Oscar smirked as his friend leaned back in his seat and nearly fell off in his attempt to watch the girl's retreating butt. "You're so inconspicuous, Kev," Oscar scoffed as his friend whistled under his breath.

Kevin was too deeply engrossed in his alcohol-driven fantasies with Hot Waitress Girl to hear Oscar. "Niiice," Kevin sighed, detached. He leaned forward again as Hot Waitress Girl disappeared around the corner, right in time to see Oscar roll his eyes at him. Giggling, Kevin poked Oscar lightly in the ribs. "She's hot, Oscar. Admit it."

Oscar just took another swig of beer.

Kevin giggled again. "You know how I know you're gay?"

Oscar pretended to think. "Uh, because I _am_ gay? Oh, and because Michael outted me to the_ entire_ office a year ago?"

As if uninterrupted, Kevin continued to his punch line. "You're gay 'cause you don't think that Hot Waitress Girl is hot."

"That doesn't make me gay," Oscar said, smiling. "But dating men?" He chuckled. "Yeah. _That_ makes me gay."

"No, it doesn't make you _gay_," Kevin slurred. "It makes you _super_ gay!"

"Super mega ultra gay!" Oscar added. "Like…unicorns."

"What?"

"I have no idea."

"I know what else makes you gay," Kevin announced.

"My bunny slippers?" Oscar provided.

Kevin shook his head. "That just makes you warm. And like an eight year old." Oscar snorted into his drink. The other man continued, "Being a founding member of The Finer Things Club makes you gay."

"Cheers to that!" The two accountants clinked glasses, sloshing some beer onto the counter in the process. After gulping down the rest of his cup, Oscar wiped his sleeve across his face. He proceeded to use the same slobbery arm to prod Kevin's fleshy shoulder. "Hey, Kev," he chirped. "You know how I know _you're_ gay?"

Kevin looked up from the patterns he was tracing with his finger in the frost on his glass. "How?" he wondered.

"'Cause you wish _you_ were in The Finer Things Club."

Kevin grinned. "Yeah, well, you know how I know you're gay?"

"How?"

He snickered. "'Cause you wore a pink tie to work today. And it matched your socks."

Oscar smoothed his silk tie proudly. "You're gay for noticing. And also because you thought it was sexy."

"Did not!" Kevin protested. He took a gulp of beer, and swiped thoughtfully at the trail of liquid that dribbled down his chin. "Well…maybe a little."

Oscar tipped his glass towards him. He stared sadly at the bottom. "It's gone again," he informed Kevin.

"That can be fixed," Kevin said, ordering more. As Oscar cheerily tucked into a fresh glass from the bartender, Kevin sniggered. "You know how I know you're gay?"

Oscar swallowed. "How?"

"'Cause you wish I had ordered us fruity drinks instead of beer."

Oscar proved him wrong by downing the rest of his drink and starting on Kevin's. He belched daintily as the bigger man called over the bartender again. "You know how I know you're gay, Kevin?"

"How?"

"'Cause Orlando Bloom is your desktop background at work."

"Pirates are awesome," Kevin defended himself. "And you're gay 'cause you wish Orlando Bloom was _your_ background."

"I'm perfectly okay with my own background."

"Yeah, who is your background of, anyway?"

Oscar shrugged. "No idea. But he looks damn good in boxer shorts!"

"And Angela hates it, so that means I like it," Kevin approved.

"You're gay for liking it, no matter the circumstances. And speaking of Angela," Oscar said, as Kevin gave an involuntary shudder at the sound of her name, "you know how I know you're gay?"

"How?"

"'Cause you like Angela's creepy kitten posters."

"Yeah, well, you know how I know you're gay?" Kevin drawled.

"How?"

"'Cause you like to drink tea."

"So do you," Oscar pointed out.

Kevin giggled. "Oops. Well, at least I don't listen to The Cardigans. Like you. So. Yep. You're gay."

Oscar sniggered. "You're gay because you tweeze your eyebrows."

"You're gay because you shave your legs."

"You're gay because you _know_ I shave my legs. And if we're ever swimming in the ocean and a shark chases us and I escape and you don't because my hairless legs make me swim faster, then you won't be laughing. Because you'll be dead. Or drowned. Or both."

Kevin plucked a straw from behind the counter and used it to blow some bubbles in his beer. "You know how I know you're gay?" he asked Oscar.

"How?"

"'Cause you want to swim in the ocean with me."

"Who _doesn't_ want to swim in the ocean with you?!" Oscar crowed loudly, arms splayed.

"I don't," Hot Waitress Girl supplied, overhearing Oscar's question as she walked by with a tray of food.

Kevin and Oscar dissolved into fits of laughter, both wiping away tears of mirth so that they could see her clearly as they leaned back precariously in their seats. She disappeared once again, and the two men sat forward again. They looked each other in the eye.

"I am _so _definitely gay," Oscar concluded.


End file.
